


call my name and save me from the dark

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Battle in the Center of the Mind, Found Family, Gen, Magic, Rescue, Weird Mindscape Shit, author watched a spiderman ps4 longplay, ep 114 spoilers, many liberties taken with d&d magic in general, many liberties taken with greater restoration, watch this be disproven next week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27283300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: “The Nonagon mentioned you,” he says. “The ghost in the back of his head, the weakness he couldn’t quite get free of. You’re holding him back.”“That,” says Molly, spitting blood at Otis’s feet, “is a very interesting way to characterize holding me hostage in my own fucking mind.”or: Jester casts Greater Restoration on the Nonagon in the middle of a pitched battle, and the Mighty Nein find themselves battling through memories—their own, Molly’s, and their opponents’—to save Molly from a fate far worse than death.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha Nydoorin
Comments: 36
Kudos: 152





	1. breathe into me and make me real

**Author's Note:**

> title is, obviously, from Evanescence's "Bring Me To Life".

Yasha wakes up, and blinks at a blue sky. Underneath her is a patch of soft green grass, around her are flowers, and beyond her is a familiar canvas tent, clearly just freshly-pitched. Ordinarily, there would be activity already, people scurrying around, Ornna and Gustav launching into another argument, Kylre coming back with food, Molly practicing his juggling. Ordinarily, the circus would be midway through preparations, setting up games and stalls and bickering over what prizes to give out. Ordinarily, Yasha would be honing her sword off to the side, waiting to be called on to start putting shit up.

But the circus has been disbanded for a very long time now, and Molly is—

Yasha chokes back a curse.

This is not Eiselcross. She cannot see the other members of the Mighty Nein. She cannot even see the Tomb Takers, or Lucien. That is concerning, to say the least, after the last thing she remembers: Jester, her hands glowing with sparkling green light, slamming her palms down on a prone Lucien, and then a white, blinding light.

Yasha stands up, takes her sword up, and starts walking forward into the tent.

She expects to see a half-finished set-up inside: maybe a tower, half-built, or the stands, barely put together. What she sees is, instead, Molly, eyes wide and terrified, bound and gagged to a wheel. Knives are biting right into his skin, and he’s trying to stay very, very still.

And it _is_ Molly. She’s not sure Lucien would let himself be bound like this, doesn’t think he’d care for a circus motif at all.

Yasha rushes forward, lifting her sword. She hears Molly’s muffled cry, and over that, a monstrous roar from the very top of the tent, and immediately changes her trajectory, diving out of the way as a horrible beast crashes down where she would’ve been: a hulking mass of flesh with too many mouths under its ragged cloak, smiling and laughing all at once. The Laughing Hand drags a glowing white twin of Skingorger along the ground, all its mouths grinning at her.

Oh, no. Oh, god, no.

Yasha clenches her hands, plants her feet. The Hand’s many mouths grin crazily at her, then its legs charge forward, raising the sword up above its head to slice her in half. Yasha raises her own just in time, and the swords _scream_ against each other, blades ringing like bells.

Well. This is some sort of weird dream, then. Not a vision or a test from the Storm Lord, though. It must have something to do with Jester’s spell.

She kicks the Hand off, manages to score a cut on its bicep. It laughs again, as if this whole battle is funny, and whips around much faster than its bulk should allow, striking out with a meaty hand to knock her flat against the ground. Yasha quickly rolls out of the way before it can cleave her head in two, but her head’s ringing with the force of the blow, and she doesn’t quite manage to completely duck the next blow. Skingorger buries itself into her shoulder, and she screams—the pain is _real_ , and she can smell the sound of her own flesh cooking.

Her rage rises. She shoves the Laughing Hand off, the sword going with it, and gets to her feet. “I’m only going to say this once,” she says. “Let me _through_.”

The Laughing Hand’s only answer is to cackle. A cacophony of wild, mad laughter rings out across the tent. Yasha grits her teeth, resists the urge to _smile_ —let it be a fight, then, and a _good_ one—and charges forward.

The swords ring as they crash together. Yasha meets blow after blow with a snarl, swinging away to hack at the Laughing Hand. It’s harder than she ever would’ve thought possible, but then again she is alone in this fight, no friends, no healers, no one at her back. But when the Hand gets her on her back, all she has to do is look at Molly, bound to a wheel, scared like hell, and a battle cry rises once more in her throat as she leaps to her feet, swings her sword around, and skewers the Laughing Hand through the chest.

And all falls silent.

She drops to her knee as the Hand crumbles to ashes, breathing hard. Then she stumbles on up to the stage, and says, trepidatiously, “Molly? Is that you?”

Molly gives a tiny nod, trying not to jostle the knife buried too near his neck. Blood trickles down the side of his neck where it’s biting in.

“Okay,” says Yasha. “Okay, okay, okay.” She takes hold of the knife.

It flashes red, and Yasha jumps back out of shock. It _burns_ , even through her gauntlets.

Okay. Okay, so. This is going to be difficult, then. Yasha grits her teeth. “Don’t move,” she tells Molly, and takes off her cloak. She wraps it around her left hand, with the fingerless gloves, then sucks in a deep breath, plants her foot on the wheel, and takes hold of the knife again. Pain lances up her arms, pain like she’s stuck her hand in a fire, but she clenches her teeth, tightens her grip, and yanks hard.

The knife flies out of the wheel.

She starts on the next one.

By the time she gets Molly down from the wheel, her cloak is smoking. Taking her gauntlets off proves a rather painful endeavor, but Yasha’s endured worse than this before, and she discards them as she brings Molly down into her arms, takes the ropes and the gag off. He practically collapses into her, breathing hard, and they go down together on their knees.

“My gods, Yasha,” he says, and there he is, with that ridiculously wobbly accent. “You—How are you _here_?”

“Jester,” says Yasha.

Molly blinks at her. “That tracks,” he says, after a moment. “All right. So, uh, I s’pose I should start with an apology? You know, ‘cause he killed the person you were protecting.”

Yasha laughs, wetly, and hugs him.

\--

Molly has some idea what’s going on, thanks to having been in the back of Lucien’s head for some time. “It’s been a nightmare and a half for a while,” he says to Yasha, tugging her cloak around his shoulders. He’d been shirtless bound to that wheel, and he looks faintly irritated about it, and the tiny nicks all over his body. “Then Jester pulled that Greater Restoration, and something _weird_ must’ve happened because...well, here you all are.”

“All?” Yasha asks, frowning.

Molly shrugs. “I think whatever she did scattered everyone,” he says. He pauses, then says, softly, “And I do mean everyone, Yash. He and his people are around here somewhere too. We—might have to pull off a couple more rescues before this is done.”

“We’ve gotten pretty good at rescues, I like to think,” says Yasha. “We’re better at that than bodyguarding someone, anyway.”

\--

They step out of the circus tent and into the sewers of Zadash, the stench of the sewage and the dead rats invading Yasha’s nostrils. Molly, beside her, claps his hand over his nose and mouth, and says, muffled, “Oh, this is just fantastic.” He pauses, then frowns, cocking his head to the side. “Yash, do you hear something?”

Yasha steps closer to the intersection, holding her hand out to keep Molly from going much farther. In his state, weaponless, freshly rescued and in need of a lot more armor than Yasha’s threadbare cloak, Molly is more of a liability than an asset in a fight. Plus, Yasha is very good at taking hits.

She cocks her head to the side, and sucks in a breath. “ _Beau_ ,” she breathes, and takes off in that direction, her boots squelching in the sewer water as she pulls her sword from its sheath once more. Molly follows behind her, saying, “Wait up!”

Yasha turns the corner, and immediately gets hit with a blast of purplish-black light, crackling with malice. Her vision goes black for a moment, and she staggers, feeling Molly bumping up behind her and swearing quietly. “What—”

“Oh, fucking great, it’s _Otis_ ,” says Molly, his voice laced with venom as the blindness from being hit in the face with an Eldritch Blast quickly wears off. Now that Yasha can see, she sees Beau, ragged and angry, bleeding from multiple tiny wounds, leaning on her bo staff, glaring down a man of elvish descent with blonde hair, made dark by the sewage water.

Beau’s eyes snap towards Yasha and Molly, and she blinks in shock. “What the fuck, is that _Lucien_?” she asks.

“Oh, no, Beau, it’s me, the ghost of Embertides past,” Molly says, sarcastically.

“It’s Molly,” says Yasha, unnecessarily.

“ _What?_ ” says Beau, alarmed, just as a loud, horrible, ringing _scream_ shatters their banter. Yasha claps her hands over her ears just in time, but Molly goes to his knees with an Infernal cry. Beau covers her ears as well, but Yasha sees the blood springing from her ears, the way she stumbles and leans hard against her staff.

Time to end this. Yasha rushes forward, her sword already arcing downward toward Otis, but Otis glances up. His eyes flash black, the back of his hand bursting with blood, and Yasha feels her body seize up. Her sword falls from nerveless fingers.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” says Otis, almost apologetic. “But we _need_ this.” He looks at Molly, staggering to his feet, and purses his lips in distaste. “The Nonagon mentioned you,” he says. “The ghost in the back of his head, the weakness he couldn’t quite get free of. You’re holding him back.”

“That,” says Molly, spitting blood at Otis’s feet, “is a very interesting way to characterize holding me hostage in my own _fucking_ mind.”

“It was never yours in the first place,” says Otis. “Listen, just look at it this way, y’know? We’re just—taking out the cancer.”

Molly narrows his eyes at him, and snarls, “Go _fuck yourself._ ” There is magic in his voice, fury and fear and desperation all mingling together in a potent mix to hit _hard_ , and Otis staggers back out of shock, shoulders shaking as he clutches at his head.

Beau launches forward, her fist flying out and socking Otis right in the jaw. Otis goes to his knees again, but his fingers slip a long, artless butcher’s knife out of his sleeve. Blood is spattered on it, old and rusty, and he flicks it lightly across his arm. More blood seeps into the blade, and fire ignites along the edge. “All right, have it your way,” he says.

“Kick his teeth in, Beau!” Molly says. “I just—need a minute.” He leans hard against the wall, pale and shaking, and nods to Yasha.

Yasha gets to her feet and swings her sword again. Otis brings his knife up against her sword, parrying with ease and turning her blow to the side, but it opens him up to Beau raining down punches like a woman possessed, her fists flying so fast it’s actually sort of hard to track where they’re going. He pivots, managing to turn aside some of the blows, but she lands a good one across his jaw that knocks him back a few steps.

“Why are you trying to defend it?” Otis asks, clutching at his shoulder and shaking his head, squinting at them like Beau’s punch knocked something loose in his head.

“Hey, wrong pronoun,” Molly calls, sounding annoyed.

“He’s our _friend_ ,” says Beau.

“So back the _fuck_ off,” says Yasha, leaping forward, her sword arcing upward.

Otis just barely manages to parry it off, the edge of Yasha’s blade scraping off his. He twists to the side and scores a deep cut along her side, and Yasha stumbles, biting back an agonized cry. God, that _hurt_.

Otis twists around, trying to get away from her, but Yasha flips her sword around, striking him in the stomach with the pommel, then in the temple once he doubles over in pain. As soon as he’s prone on the ground, she raises her sword and slams it down into his chest.

The world blurs, goes gray for a moment. Beau quickly grabs hold of Molly, who clutches on to her and says, “Well, don’t you look like complete shit.”

“You _asshole_ ,” says Beau, sounding choked up. Her mouth is turning upward in a smile, her eyes shining with tears. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have really missed your obnoxious-ass voice.”

“Guys?” Yasha says, pulling herself back up and backing up to grab hold of Beau’s hand. Beau’s calloused fingers slide into Yasha’s, and Yasha’s breath catches right in her throat at the warmth of Beau’s hand in hers. She looks at Molly, who raises his eyebrows at her as he leans against Beau.

He doesn’t get the chance to make a smart remark, because suddenly the ground just _breaks up under them_ , shattering into pieces, and Yasha grabs hold of both Molly and Beau. “Hold on!” she says, right before they begin to fall.

And fall, and fall, and fall—

Yasha closes her eyes, and thinks of Zuala, thinks of Beau, thinks of Molly, thinks of Jester and Veth and Fjord and Caleb and Caduceus. There are people counting on her, and two of them are clinging on tight to her and screaming in terror. She will not let them down, not again, not if she can help it.

Her wings tear free from her back, majestic white wings that slow their fall with every wingbeat. With them out and the fall slowing down, she opens her eyes to see the sheer awe on both Molly’s and Beau’s faces. “Surprise,” she says to Molly, who’s reaching out a hand to trail his fingers along her wings.

“You can _fly_ ,” he breathes.

“Well, only for a little while,” Yasha admits. “But I think it’s long enough.” She looks around as they glide gently downward—she doesn’t recognize this place. When she glances at Beau, Beau shakes her head. “Any idea where we are?” Yasha asks Molly.

Molly’s lips press together into a thin line. “He knows this place,” he says, nodding to the small but rather forbidding keep just to the left of them. It’s little more than ruins, one of its outer walls having crumbled over the years, a turret just missing entirely. “It’s one of the Claret Orders’ old hideouts, after the Empire came in and swept them out of the Marrow Valley. I think he grew up here.”

“Wow,” says Beau. “Yeah, no wonder he’s such a douchebag, if this is the kinda place he grew up in.”

“Exactly,” says Molly.

“I’m going to try to steer us in,” says Yasha. “Any preferences?”

“Not really,” Molly starts.

Then something explodes in one of the towers, and a very small, yellow ball flings itself out of the window, screaming bloody murder.

“Veth!” shouts Beau. “ _Veth, hold on, we’re coming!_ ”

“Who’s Veth?” Molly asks. “He never figured out who she was.”

“She’s Nott,” says Yasha, but she twists in the air and says, “Hold on tight.” Then she beats her wings faster and faster, steering in Veth’s direction as Veth falls. “Veth!” she screams.

“Holy _shit_ , Yasha!” Veth shouts back. Beau sticks her hand out to grab hold of Veth’s foot, and just in time too, because then Yasha feels her wings begin to tire. “And—what the fuck, _Lucien?_ ”

“You are way less green than I thought you’d be, Nott,” says Molly, “and a _lot_ more prone to jumping out windows.”

“ _Molly_ ,” says Veth, relieved. Then she pauses. “Hey, so. Vess de Rogna, the book, Nonagon, whatever the fuck is Sog-no-voom, the Key to Cog-noo-za. What the _fuck_?”

“Okay, Vess I’m _very_ sorry for, she might’ve been an asshole of the highest order but you didn’t deserve to be stiffed on your payment in quite that fashion,” says Molly. “Can we talk about the rest later? When we’re not in the air?”

“Please do,” says Yasha, trying to glide towards a safe landing before her wings dissipate. There’s a battlement over there, and if she can just get herself and all her friends there in time—

An arrow whizzes past Yasha’s head.

“Drop them!” someone calls from above, and Veth says, “Hey, Tyffial! _Eat fucking shit!_ ” She cocks her crossbow, takes aim, and fires, but from the sound of it, all she hits is stone. “Faster, Yasha, faster!”

“I’m _trying!_ ” Yasha snaps. “I don’t want to drop you all!”

“Drop us!” Veth says.

“ _What?_ ” Molly all but shrieks.

“Yeah, no, it’s fine, Veth has a thing,” says Beau. “Yash, on three, one, two—”

“Listen, I’m all for bad plans,” says Molly, clinging hard to Yasha as he eyes, “but I really do not want to find out if dying in my own head means we’re all just fucked.”

“Just trust me, Mollymauk,” says Veth, looking Molly dead in the eye. Her voice is soft and pleading, and not for the first time, Yasha marvels at the steel that’s grown in her small friend’s spine, the fire in her eyes. “Trust that I remember what you told me. What you left us all with.”

Molly stares at her, then nods, and lets go of Yasha, just as her wings dissipate into thin air.

Veth pulls out a feather of her own as they all fall through thin air, Beau holding Molly by the borrowed cloak, Yasha tumbling ass over teakettle, and chants a word as they’re falling, and falling, and falling faster and faster and—

Slower, slower, slower. Molly, who’s screwed his eyes tightly shut, cracks them open again and looks down. “Oh,” he whispers, as his feet very gently touch the ground just outside the castle, just past the moat. “That’s new.”

Yasha drifts gently down. “Well,” she says, “I think we’re safe n—”

An arrow slams into the back of her shoulder. Yasha shuts her eyes, sighs, and says, “Actually, we should get to cover right now.”


	2. the birds start bleeding now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from Sleigh Bells' "End of the Line".

They trample into the woods all together, Veth right behind them shooting back at Tyffial’s shots as Beau and Molly call out where Tyffial must be. Yasha is in front, hacking through the vegetation to clear a path and ducking the occasional arrow. It helps that occasionally she hears the whistle of an arrow, then the characteristic hissing sound that means Beau’s caught it and thrown it right back.

 _There!_ There’s some light there just beyond the trees. They just have to get through to it.

Leaves crunch underfoot. Yasha catches sight of a glint in the periphery of her vision, and dives to the side as an arrow, crackling with lightning, sails past her and embeds itself into a tree. They run, and run, and _run_ until—

—they burst from the trees and nearly fall into an ocean, right off the gangplank of a pirate ship at night, docked at a ramshackle port. Molly’s hand darts out to yank Veth back before she steps off the plank, and Beau quickly turns on her heel, putting her fists up to guard Yasha’s back. “Okay, you were never on the _Ball Eater_ ,” she says, “so what the fuck?”

“It’s because you’re all here,” says Molly, “so wherever we are, whatever this spell’s doing, it’s pulling something from everyone who got yanked in.” He looks around, and says, “Wait, the ship’s called the _Ball Eater_?”

“Well, not right now,” says Veth, glaring at the ocean like it’s done something to offend her personally. “Fucking _water_. I bet this is Fjord’s fault.”

“Eh, could be literally any of us,” says Beau. “Molly, you see her?”

“Nope,” says Molly. “I think we might be in the clear? At least for now.” He sags against Yasha, and says, “I know we’ve all got questions, and I promise I’ll answer them as best as I can, but there’s still things I don’t quite understand, either.”

“First I want to get _off_ the pirate ship and away from the water,” says Veth, irritatedly kicking at the boards of the ship.

So they get off the ship, laying out planks to hop off the deck and onto the pier. Yasha hauls Molly across, because he looks about ready to pass out, and Beau carries Veth on her shoulders as she gingerly walks across the plank and hops onto the pier. The ocean is calm and still tonight, although Yasha could almost swear she sees— _something_ swimming furtively away from the ship.

Eh. Could be nothing.

Veth leads them to the Bloated Cup, her crossbow held ready, just in case Tyffial or some other Tomb Taker might come out of the shadows to try to kill them on their way. Certainly it’s a little eerie to walk into a tavern at night, the busiest part of the day for them, and find no one there, but Yasha’s too relieved to think too hard about it.

Beau clambers over the counter, puts three bottles of Lionett wine in front of them and a glass of water. “Okay,” she says, “I’ve got a lot of questions.”

“Shoot,” says Molly.

“Are you okay?”

Molly, who’s just about to pop the cork on his bottle of wine, pauses and looks up at her. “I’m fine,” he says, fixing a smile on his face. Yasha knows that smile. It’s the one he uses when everything isn’t fine, but he’s trying to be reassuring anyway. “Doing much better now that I’m with you. Really.”

Veth sips at her water, and says, “Beau can punch you into telling the truth, you know.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m _not_ gonna do that to Molly,” says Beau, flatly. “I totally would to Lucien, but like—I trust Molly to, at the very least, not want to fuck us over.”

“I actually would like to see you punch someone into telling the truth sometime, just for a laugh,” says Molly. “But really, I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” says Beau. She leans onto the counter, and says, “Sure. You’ve just been trapped in your own head for two months and then in very short order ended up dragged through the sewers, almost stabbed and shot at by cultists with a creepy devotion to the guy who’s taken over your body, and then dragged through a forest only to end up on an island for pirates.” She pops the cork off her own wine bottle, and says, “But you’re totally fine.”

Molly says nothing more, just looks down at his wine.

Then he says, “I hated it. Every minute.”

Yasha turns her head towards Molly, planting her elbow on the table and settling her cheek against her bruised, split knuckles. “Being trapped,” she says, quietly. “Being aware, the whole time, but completely powerless, because you aren’t the one in charge anymore.”

Molly hunches in on himself, so small under Yasha’s cloak, and nods. “It’s like you’re stuck in a cage,” he says. “A really tiny cage, with knives pointed at you, so you can barely move. You can barely even breathe. And you’ve got a very lovely view of all the things your body’s doing without your permission, but at the same time, you can’t do a fucking thing about it. Can’t even bang your fists against the bars.” He pops the cork off his bottle, takes a very long sip, and says, “It’s hell.”

“That,” says Veth, “is a very fucked-up metaphor.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it,” says Molly. “Got nothing else to do. I have an entire collection of truly awful metaphors and I’ve been dying to try ‘em all out.” He pauses, then adds, “For what it’s worth, I _am_ sorry about de Rogna.”

“Eh, I was going to kill her anyway, she psychologically tortured my husband,” says Veth. “Mostly I’m just pissed we didn’t get _paid_.”

“You have a _what_ ,” says Molly.

“And a son,” Yasha adds.

“ _You what,_ ” Molly repeats, his voice much higher-pitched this time.

“She was a total bitch,” Veth says. “Hopefully we’ll get paid before they realize we’re the ones who stole the body.”

“Oh my god,” says Molly.

“Don’t feel too bad about it,” says Yasha, patting Molly on the back. “We were kinda sorta planning on killing her anyway.”

“Right after we got paid,” Veth says.

“Yeah, we’re real glad you’re back from the dead, Molly,” says Beau, a corner of her mouth quirking upward in a small, lopsided smile. “You got any idea what’s going on here? What’s up with the Nonagon, the Key to Cagnouza, the Somnovum?”

“A little bit,” says Molly, “but again, I don’t understand much of it. It’s all very much over my head, but from what I can tell, the Nonagon is supposed to be a—a vessel for some kind of power. Quite a lot of it, in fact. The Somnovum is what holds that power, although I’ll be damned if I have any idea what it really is—Lucien and his lot talked about it vaguely. Might be a deity for all I know. The Key to Cagnouza is…” He pauses, then waves a hand over his bare chest. “I guess Cagnouza’s the place it’s being kept. The key is me, or at least the key’s my body, or the key’s the ritual they want my body for, I never could tell.”

“Vess said,” says Beau, “that she was the one who created you. I’m guessing it’s ‘cause she deliberately fucked up this ritual.”

“She didn’t create me,” says Molly, simply, and Yasha can’t help but believe him. No one could create Molly but himself. “She killed Lucien and paved the way for me, sure, but _I_ made me. Frankly, neither of them really deserve a whole lot of credit for me.” He drums his fingers against the countertop, and says, “I don’t want that power, by the way. The sort of power Lucien wants, it’s dangerous. It could—”

“—kill a god,” Beau finishes. Yasha shivers, and takes a sip of her wine.

“Yeah,” says Molly. “You can see why I’m not very keen on having that sort of power.” He shrugs. “What I _want_ is to have a nice hot bath and sleep on a very soft bed. Maybe get a massage with a very happy ending. I don’t need or want that kind of power, I’ve heard the stories about what happens to people who get it.”

“Jester said,” says Yasha, suddenly, “that when she scried on Lucien, he _wanted_ us to follow him. He wanted us to see.” She knocks her ankle against Molly’s, and he scoots his stool closer to her, rests his head against her shoulder. “But did he really?” she asks, quietly.

“A little bit him, a little bit me,” Molly admits. “He’s an arrogant little nutjob who thinks he can take being a vessel for something bigger than he can understand. Catching your attention meant there would be witnesses who would spread word about him and his cult.” He shifts around a little so his horn isn’t jabbing Yasha in the shoulder, and thank god because _ow_ , tiefling horns are sharp. “That bit I talked him into,” Molly says. “I thought, if anyone could have a snowball’s chance in one of the nine hells of defeating him, it would be you. And I just—I wanted to see you again, before the end.” He huffs out a tired laugh. “He didn’t count on Jester.”

“Nobody counts on Jester,” says Beau, sounding proud, her face softening just a little at Jester’s name. Yasha looks away, feeling pinpricks stabbing into her heart. “She sneaks up on you when you least expect it.”

“That she does,” says Molly, fondly. Then he straightens up, and says, “Would she be here, do you think?”

“Ehhh,” says Veth. “I don’t know if she _liked_ being a pirate all that much—”

The doors to the tavern slam open in a gust of wind. Yasha hops off her chair, her sword already halfway out before she sees who it is that’s striding through the doors, grinning brightly and trailing _hamster unicorns_ : Jester, with a giant pirate hat and the most piratical outfit based off Molly’s coat any of them have ever seen. She’s also soaking wet, but that hasn’t seemed to dampen her spirits any.

“Hi, guys!” Jester says. “What took you so long? I looked all _over_ the place, I even took a swim, and all I found was this coat.” She does a little twirl in it, and says, “Doesn’t it look way better than Avantika’s?”

Beau’s jaw drops.

Veth whistles, lowly.

Molly says, “If I trade you Yasha’s cloak, will you give me that coat?”

Jester stares at him, then looks to Yasha and says, with hope kindling in her eyes, “Is that Molly? Did it work?”

“It’s Molly,” Yasha confirms, and she sees the smile lighting up Jester’s face before she rushes towards Molly, scooping him up and twirling him around in a hug. Molly laughs and hugs her back, their tails twining together.

“You’re _back!_ ” Jester says, setting him down and looking him over. Her smile fades when she sees his injuries, the tiny nicks the knives had made on him. “You’re hurt—sit down, I’ll heal you, and then you can have this coat.”

“I never actually left,” Molly says, sitting back down. “I was just made a prisoner in the back of my own head. It hasn’t been fun.” He pats Jester’s shoulder as her hands glow with white light and press down on his arm, the nicks all beginning to knit back together. “Thank you all,” he says. “For coming for me. Sorry I couldn’t do the same.”

It takes Yasha a moment to realize what he means, but when she does, both she and Jester freeze up at the memory. “It wasn’t your fault,” says Yasha, putting her hand on Molly’s, her heart cracking just a little bit. “You did your best.”

“Of course we would come for you, always,” says Jester.

“You’re one of us,” says Veth. “The Mighty Nein.”

“And we really missed you,” says Beau. She pauses, then adds, with a corner of her mouth quirking upward, “Don’t spread that around, I got a reputation to maintain.”

“I’m going to tell everyone you’re secretly a softie, Beau,” says Molly, as Jester draws her hands back. “Gods, that feels so much better. Here, I said I’d trade.”

“Keep it!” says Jester, taking the coat off and handing it to Molly. She’s wearing her own clothes underneath, and with a snap of her fingers they burst into baby-blue, fur-lined clothes, with sequins sewn in swirling patterns all over them. She stomps her foot, and tiny, decorative wings sprout from the ankle of her now light blue boots.

“You can _do that_?” Veth all but shrieks in shock.

“Yeah, it’s a _dreamscape_ ,” says Jester. “Okay, everyone hold still, I’m going to do some more healing. You _all_ look like shit.” So saying, she holds her symbol of the Traveler up and murmurs a few words under her breath.

A wave of warmth washes over Yasha. It’s like she’s sinking into a hot tub, all her worries and fears and pain sloughing right off of her. Before her eyes, the burns and scrapes and cuts she’d suffered before heal up and vanish, as though they never were.

Molly, who’s putting the coat on and arranging the cloak to drape over his shoulder, blinks at Jester’s new clothes. He looks down at himself and snaps his fingers, then pouts when nothing of note happens. “It doesn’t work for me,” he says.

“Hey, Jes,” says Beau, “you see anyone else around, besides us?”

“Nope,” says Jester. “Which is pretty creepy. Darktow wasn’t this quiet, right?” She pauses, then adds, “I mean, I guess at night it got a little more quiet, but not like this. And not here.”

“I like the quiet,” says Veth. “It means we can rest. And we _should_ rest, because I don’t know about you guys, but I’m bushed. I just want to sleep for a couple hours.”

“On a deserted pirate island?” Molly asks.

“Would it even do anything since we’re trapped in a weird mindscape?” Beau muses. “And possibly stalked by cultists?”

“I would like to nap for a little bit, actually,” says Yasha. “It’s been a long day, and if we’re going to be stalked by cultists, I’d rather be refreshed.”

“I can keep watch,” says Jester.

“Yeah, me too,” says Molly.

\--

When Yasha next wakes up, it’s been two hours, and Beau is drooling onto her bicep, her body pressed close to Yasha’s front and her arm thrown carelessly over Yasha’s waist, fingers lightly resting against the small of her back. Yasha bites her lip, looks up at the ceiling, and thinks very hard about the one time she had to come save Molly from a very pissed-off husband who’d thought he had _nefarious designs_ on his wife. The man had a little rat face and a nasally whiny voice. Also wrinkles. Also thinning hair. Focus on all that, and not on Beau, sleeping peacefully, drool coming out of the corner of her lips, looking so much younger in sleep. Her cheekbones, her lips, the sound of her snoring.

Yeah, okay, not working out. Yasha dares to lift her head a little, and there’s Veth, her back against Beau’s, her limbs wrapped around a pillow.

The door creaks open, and Molly sits down on the bed and whacks Yasha’s ankle with the spade of his tail. “So, I’m not entirely sure how time works here,” he says, “but it’s been a couple hours, more or less. How you feeling?”

“Mmf,” Yasha says. Beau stirs a little in her arms, her nose scrunching up.

“Cute,” Molly says, softly. “Come on, though, we can’t stay here for long. Jester says we’ve got to find the rest, and then—” He stops, then sighs. “Deal with him, I guess,” he says.

Yasha stares at Beau in her arms, then sighs and pulls away, careful not to wake her. Veth goes on snoring away, sleeping like a log.

“Are you okay?” Yasha asks Molly, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed to and pulling herself up to a sitting position.

“I keep thinking about what Otis said,” Molly admits. “That I’m just—this ghost in the back of someone else’s head.” He sighs. “I spent a lot of time locked up in my head. I think—god, I don’t know, this sounds weird, but I remember a lot of Lucien’s life, and compared to all of that I feel like my life’s a dream. A really good one, mind, but a dream. And I don’t _like_ that, because I feel real. I _am_ real. But at the same time…” He stops, rubbing a hand over his arm. “When the body came back he was the one in charge, not me. So what’s that mean for me?”

“It means we should’ve been the ones who brought you back,” says Jester, coming inside now, taking her hat off and putting it on Molly’s head. He huffs out a laugh and takes it off, placing it on his lap. “I thought about it a little bit,” says Jester. “You guys are _very_ different people, you know? Maybe you’re so different that you’re two different souls, and the one that’s in charge of the body is the one who’s called to first.”

“We having a heart-to-heart?” Beau asks, and Yasha turns to see her yawning, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Shit, what time’s it?”

“I’m not sure there is such a thing as the concept of time in here,” says Molly. “But, uh. Yes?”

“Cool, what’re we talking about?”

“Molly is having an identity crisis,” Jester informs her, and Molly lightly knocks his knuckles against her shoulder. “Hey!”

“I’m not having an _identity crisis_ , I know exactly who I am,” says Molly. “Now, _what_ is a bit up in the air at the moment, along with _am I getting out of here alive_. But the different soul explanation makes sense.”

“We’re getting you out of here,” says Yasha. “We’re fixing this.”

“But first we oughta find the others,” says Beau. “And, you know, not get murdered by Tomb Takers. Hey, Jes, any idea what happens if you die in the shared mindscape?”

“I think you die in real life too,” Jester says. “Probably? Or you get booted out from the dream back into real life with no harm done. It’s not super clear.”

Yasha, who shoved the point of her sword through Otis’s chest not too long ago, shivers at the memory now. They had come just a little too close to dying there and finding out for themselves, hadn’t they.

Then Molly says, “So that means we need to find the rest of the Nein, _now_.”


	3. out here there's no negotiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from Set It Off's "Killer In the Mirror".

They step out of the Bloated Cup all together and set foot on the wooden floor of the _Ball Eater_ , formerly the _Squall Eater_ , in barely a heartbeat. Only this time, a large blue dragon is on the deck, curled on top of gold and other treasures spilling off the sides of the ship, and it regards them with a calm, regal look.

“Oh,” says Veth, “shit.”

“You fuckers,” says Molly, “fought a _dragon_?”

“Uh, yeah,” says Beau.

“I didn’t,” says Yasha, now brandishing her sword once more. “Both times. I only got told about it after.”

“ _You fought fucking dragons twice?_ ” Molly near-shrieks.

The blue dragon, whose name Yasha doesn’t really remember, snorts in response, his eyes fixed on Jester. “The ones who got away,” he says, in a deep voice. “The _sneak-thieves_. And you, brazen little thieves, have brought _more_.”

“You’re _dead_ ,” says Jester, softly, but her eyes are wide and frightened, and her grip on her axe is so tight her knuckles have turned white. “Twiggy _killed_ you.”

“Perhaps,” the dragon acknowledges, the _s_ coming out in a sibilant hiss. “Perhaps I am but a memory.” He raises his neck, pulls himself up from rest, and gold and treasure spill from his back as he _moves_. “But I am a memory that you fear, and thief, fear can _kill_.” And he rears up, sucking in a breath, before his mouth begins to glow an ominous blue.

“Duck!” screams Jester, grabbing hold of Molly and pushing him off to the side, shoving him into a pile of gold. All of them _dive_ to the side, immediately, as the dragon slams down on his forelegs and belches out _lightning_. It slams right into Beau and Veth, knocks them back into the railing of the ship.

Yasha gets to her feet, and charges forward, sword swinging, her rage boiling over. To her surprise, Molly’s just right behind her, having apparently found a dagger in the riches.

“You should get back!” Yasha says, hacking away at the dragon.

“I’m not going to let you get fucking _fried_ ,” Molly shoots back, quickly jumping back as the dragon snaps its jaws at him. But he doesn’t quite manage to dodge the claws that swipe him right into a railing, right beside Veth, who’s still shaking off the disorientation from being electrocuted.

Then the shadow of a giant lollipop falls over Yasha. She steps to the side as the lollipop slams down into the dragon’s head, knocking him, for a brief time, off his feet. Molly leaps upward then, his dagger stabbing into a chink in the dragon’s scales, and he holds on tight as the dragon roars again.

“Yasha!” Beau shouts. “ _Boost!_ ”

Yasha drops her sword for a moment, cupping her hands together. Beau jumps onto the platform her hands have made, and Yasha launches her up high enough that Beau somersaults in the air, her own fists crackling with blue lightning as she dives down to hammer the dragon’s snout with powerful blows.

“Okay,” Molly hollers from where he’s holding on by a dagger to the dragon’s thrashing neck, “where the _fuck_ did you learn how to throw _lightning_?”

“Xhorhas!” Beau yells back, landing onto the dragon’s back and digging her hands into its flesh, trying to hold on.

Veth’s crossbow bolt thuds into the dragon’s scale, and he snarls, briefly stopping trying to shake off Molly to focus on Veth. “ _You_ ,” he growls. He swipes out again with his claws, the sharp points of his talons glinting in the sunlight.

Veth ducks the first blow, rolling out of the way to fire again. She manages to get another bolt in, but her next one skids off the dragon’s scales and falls onto the deck. The second blow catches her, leaves a gash across her stomach. Veth swears, pressing her hand to the gash for a moment, but reloads and fires again.

The dragon howls as the bolt digs into his leg. His wings unfurl, and he tries to take off.

“No, you _don’t_ ,” Yasha snarls. Just as the dragon rears up onto his hind legs, she raises her sword up and tries to stab it through, but her sword skids right off it, the blade raising sparks.

The lollipop rises once more to slap the dragon across its face, and a blast of radiant white light collides with the dragon’s side, just before he begins to rise, taking Molly and Beau up with him.

Yasha grits her teeth, crouches down, then jumps. Her wings burst free once more, and she lets the winds bear her up as the lollipop disappears. She glances down below to see Jester transforming as well, her arms growing feathers and a beak sprouting from her face as Veth hops onto her back.

“She can turn into an _owl_ now?!” Molly shouts, holding on as tightly as possible to the dagger. Beau is dangling by her hand from a scale, kicking out ineffectually and swearing.

The dragon roars again, lightning bursting forth from that awful maw. Yasha folds in her wings and drops, just in time, because even as she’s dodging, the lightning still catches her arm, leaving angry purple-red welts on her skin. She spreads her wings once more and flies upward, slicing out at the dragon’s leg where Jester’s spell is illuminating all the weak spots. Blood splashes onto her face, cold as ice and snow.

Molly, swearing, claws at the side of his own neck. Blood runs down his neck, and his fingernails glow with radiant light. He plunges them into the dragon’s hide, where Jester’s Guiding Bolt is lighting up all the chinks in the scaled armor, and drags them across with a snarl, raking a bloody trail in their wake, and the dragon hisses, “You will _pay_ , blood-poisoned!”

“ _What_ did he say?” Beau calls. She swings herself up till she’s grappling onto the dragon’s horns, hanging on for dear life.

“How the fuck should I know!” Molly huffs. Blood bursts from the side of his neck again, and the dragon begins to thrash wildly about, his eyes clouding over.

And that’s when Jester dives down towards the dragon’s snout with a battle screech, raking her own claws across his snout and mouth and eyes. Yasha flies up as the dragon is twisting and writhing in the air, screaming in pain, and bites back an angry hiss when one of his wild swipes manages to catch her across the stomach. But it hasn’t managed to disembowel her, so she flies towards its exposed underbelly and pushes her sword _in_.

She hears the _twang_ of a crossbow, and Veth’s triumphant cry of, “Right in the _nostril!_ ” Yasha smiles a little, then puts her other hand on the hilt of her sword and drags the sword up, up, up.

The dragon screams as he dies. Yasha lets go of her sword—she’ll come back for it later—and flies up to catch Molly and Beau up in her arms, just as the dragon falls through the air and crashes, thrashing in his death throes, into the pirate ship, the mast piercing it right through.

They all fly down, slowly. Yasha puts Beau and Molly down, takes hold of her sword and pulls it out. Jester lands on her talons, and turns back into a tiefling as Veth hops off.

“Well,” says Molly, after a moment. “That was terrifying.” He saunters up to the dragon’s broken corpse, and pulls his dagger from its remains.

“We didn’t die!” Veth says, pumping her fist into the air. “But also, _ow_.”

“Yeah, _ow_ ,” Beau echoes. “Yasha? Hey, Yasha?”

“It isn’t much,” says Yasha, but her hand glows softly anyway, and she presses it to Beau’s shoulder. Beau sighs happily and leans against her, and Yasha’s heart skips a beat or two at the feeling of Beau’s body pressing against hers.

“Helps anyway,” says Beau. “Thanks, Yasha.”

It’s then, as Yasha’s cheeks grow warm and her heart pounds against her ribcage, that the floorboards of the pirate ship begin to break up underneath them.

“Oh,” says Molly, immediately clutching Jester’s sleeve, “not _again_ —”

\--

Mercifully, when they crash into the ground, it’s not from so high up that the impact could kill them. Not so mercifully, they crash into cobblestoned ground, so Yasha just lies there for a couple of minutes, feeling very sore all over. Molly, beside her, groans theatrically.

“What if we just—don’t move, at all, for a few minutes?” he says.

Beau hops to her feet, brushing off the dirt and gravel dust that’s gotten on her. “Everybody up,” she orders, to an answering chorus of groans. Veth raises her middle finger from where she’s landed. “We don’t know whose memory this is, so everyone stay on track.”

“I think I might have some idea,” Molly volunteers, sitting up with a wince. “This is the Mosaic Ward in Rexxentrum. He passed through here, looking for Zoran, and if I’m remembering right he went,” he glances around, looking at the colorful banners strategically hiding homes in varying states of ruin and disrepair, “thataway.” He points down an alleyway, hard to see behind a flag proudly waving the crest of the Dwendalian Empire. Under that flag is a sign that Yasha doesn’t really know how to decipher. “There’s a bar that way, like the Evening Nip. He found her there.”

Beau knocks her knuckles together, and her gauntlets crackle with blue electricity. “We stick together,” she orders. “God knows what’s waiting for us in there.”

They don’t take more than three steps into the alley when a nondescript door suddenly _explodes_ outward.

“I think they got impatient,” Jester comments through the dust and the fog. Yasha yanks her sword out of its sheath again, and to her side she sees Veth cocking her crossbow, Beau dropping into a ready stance, Molly slicing lightly across his arm with the dagger. A second later, a very familiar firbolg slams against the wall in front of them, before standing up and shaking his head.

“Well, that was just rude,” Caduceus comments. Then he looks at them and smiles, tiredly. There’s a thin trickle of blood coming from his hairline, and an arrow is planted right in his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “You must be Mollymauk. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

“Uh, hi,” says Molly. “Yes, that’s me, you’re the new cleric?”

“Caduceus,” says Caduceus. “Also, we should run. There’s a fellow here who wouldn’t be too pleased to see you.”

“Who would be, with those fucks?” Molly grumbles, but Yasha’s already rushing forward to pull Caduceus away, pushing him behind her back where Jester can get to him, her hands already glowing with healing light. Then she stumbles, her vision going completely black for a moment. The last thing she sees is Jester clapping a hand over her mouth, her eyes shocked, and Veth aiming her crossbow towards someone just past her.

“Guys?” Yasha calls. “What—”

That’s all she manages to say before something cuts across her back, and she lets out a pained scream as she collapses to one knee.

“Here I thought you liked the circus,” comes a voice that sounds almost _exactly_ like Molly’s. Yasha’s blood runs cold as her vision clears, and she staggers to her feet as she turns, backing away to see—well, Lucien, who looks almost _exactly_ like Molly, right down to the saunter. She can see where Molly grew from.

But he watches her with flinty eyes, and there’s something cold in the way he smiles. In his hands are two swords with, one with a serrated edge, dripping blood. Behind him are Tyffial, a stocky dwarf already nocking an arrow to her bow, and a goliath woman with a mass of wild hair and a glaive in her hand.

“You should’ve stayed there,” Lucien says. His fur-lined coat seems to billow behind him, dramatically.

Molly’s hand reaches out to drag her back. She feels Caduceus’ furred hand on her back, feels the gash Lucien gave her begin to seal up.

“And you should’ve stayed dead,” says Molly, narrowing his eyes at his twin. It’s strange, how two people who share the same damn face can look so different: Lucien in his dark, furred cloak, Molly in a patchwork coat of many colors and a piratical flair. “But hey, we don’t always get what we want, now, do we?”

“A lesson I thought you’d have learned by now, my dear seabird,” says Lucien. The seeming endearment, on his tongue, is barbed and venomous, and Molly’s grip on his dagger tightens, the glow from his blood flaring up all the brighter. “I can’t get rid of you, but we _can_ get rid of your friends. They’re fun to play with, but they’re really getting in the way here, cramping my style.”

“Your style,” says Molly, “is fucking _awful_.”

Tyffial draws the bowstring back. Icicles grow along the shaft of the arrow. “You folks have been great,” she says, “but it’s long past time we got rid of our hangers-on. No hard feelings.”

“Enough with the talk, already,” Zoran huffs, twirling her glaive as she steps forward. “I want the big one.”

Yasha glances at Molly, then at the rest of her friends. “We’re running?” she asks.

“We’re running,” Caduceus confirms, his hand on Jester’s shoulder.

“On three,” says Beau. “ _Three!_ ”

Almost as one, the Mighty Nein turn on their heels and bolt right out of the alley like bats out of hell. Yasha hauls Veth up over her shoulder so Veth can keep firing crossbow bolts, which is great, because Tyffial is firing arrows at _them_. Beau whips around briefly to catch an arrow headed towards Molly, then tosses it back towards Lucien, and gives a victory whoop when it slams into his shoulder.

“This way,” says Molly, taking Yasha’s hand and steering her, and therefore the rest of them, towards a door, “come on, come _on_ —”

They crash through the door. Instead of stepping from a cobblestoned street into someone’s cozy home, though, the first thing Yasha’s foot meets is soft, loamy soil. She blinks, taking in the sight in front of her: an old stone steeple rising into a canopy of trees with vines crawling up the sides of it, old graves all around them, and green _everywhere_ , broken up by the blooming flowers.

Caduceus breathes out a soft sigh, a smile breaking across his face like dawn. “Welcome home, I suppose,” he says, turning to the rest of them. “We _should_ be safe here in the Blooming Grove. Hopefully. I’m not quite sure if it’s still a sanctuary in—wherever we are.” He frowns. “Where are we, anyway, Jester?”

“Our _minds_ ,” says Jester, already breaking off to explore. “Caduceus! Look, there’s lavender blooming from this grave, you could make tea!”


	4. hanging on to the dead lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from Arcade Fire's "Afterlife".

It’s as the tea is steeping, and everyone else is out exploring the Grove and, in Beau and Yasha’s case, flirting ineffectually, that Caduceus sits next to Mollymauk Tealeaf and says, “Sorry I couldn’t find a cup that wasn’t chipped. It’s been a while since I could buy new cups.”

Molly startles, then looks over at him. He looks roughed up and tired, hair a mess, blood still flowing sluggishly from the side of his neck. Caduceus taps his shoulder with a glowing finger and watches the wounds seal back up. “Thanks,” Molly says. “I don’t mind the chipped cup. Gives it character.”

“Oh, good, because I ran out,” says Caduceus, apologetically. “I only really have, uh, five.” Probably. He actually has no idea, but five is a pretty good estimate.

Molly laughs a little, then looks away again, back towards the graves scattered around the landscape, grey stone a sharp contrast against the lush green. “I can share,” he says. “So—this is your home.”

“Yeah,” says Caduceus. “My family’s taking care of it right now while I’m here. Tell you the truth, I do miss it, but I think I would miss everything else outside it more.” He looks up, watching a beetle descend from a vine and hopping into a rosebush. “I do sort of owe these people,” he says.

Molly taps his fingernails against the porcelain cup, and says, “And you like them. Quite a lot.”

“That too,” Caduceus acknowledges. In an abstract sense, he’d known Molly was somewhat good at being able to perceive things under someone’s surface, from what he knows about the tiefling, Molly had been a fortune-teller and skilled at trickery. Hanging around Jester long enough has been a resounding demonstration in how insight and trickery can go hand in hand. Still, it’s a surprise to hear someone else acknowledge it so baldly. “They’re very likeable people. Being around them is—it feels good. It feels right.”

“They’re assholes, but they grow on you,” says Molly.

Caduceus huffs out a quiet laugh. “That they have,” he says, warmly.

“Thank you, by the way,” says Molly. “For, you know, this. You’ve got no reason to be here.”

Caduceus shakes his head. “I have reason to be here,” he says, nodding to Veth and Jester trying to shoot down apples from a nearby tree via crossbow bolts and magic. “Certainly our mutual friends are some of it, but, Mister Mollymauk—”

“Mx. right now,” says Molly. “Tell you later when that changes.”

“Mx. Mollymauk,” Caduceus corrects. “I also think that what Lucien’s up to is just—not going to end well. For anyone, including himself.” He sighs. “That kind of power isn’t safe to play around with, and despite everything he’s said about being able to handle it, he doesn’t strike me as the type to be careful with it.”

“Oh, he’s not,” says Molly, sounding sour. “Been trying to tell him that for weeks but all I get is _shut the fuck up, you don’t get a say_. It’s _my_ fucking body, I put tattoos on it and everything, I get a damn say.” He pauses, then looks over at Caduceus and says, worried, “Are you—Are you okay with that? With me? I know just enough about the Blooming Grove that I know how deeply fucked up everything about me coming back is.”

Caduceus pauses to consider this. It’s true that under ordinary circumstances he would be somewhat suspicious of Molly, who apparently just cannot stay dead, but—the shadow of his death has hung over the group for a very long time, right from the start of Caduceus’ stay with them. And truth be told, he likes Molly, he really does. Someone who comes back from the grave and decides to try to leave every town better than it was—it’s an admirable thing to aspire to. “I’m okay with you,” he says, and Molly’s shoulders visibly relax, his tail going slack. “I’d love to really get to know you better. You seem like an interesting and colorful person.”

“Oh, very much so,” says Molly, a corner of his mouth quirking upward.

Beyond them, Beau hangs, upside-down and by her knees, from a tree branch. With her eyes closed, she tosses a throwing star, and half an apple falls to the ground. Yasha claps slowly, utterly smitten.

“I knew it,” says Molly, smugly.

“They were at this before?” Caduceus asks.

“From day one,” says Molly. “Have they kissed yet?”

“Nope,” says Caduceus. “But they’ve been flirting. They’re aware there are feelings, but I think they’re trying to see who’ll break first and say something. It’s been very entertaining.”

“Tell me more,” says Molly.

\--

They leave after they drink their tea. Caduceus gives one last look back at the memory of the temple he called home for so long, brushes a hand over the stonework, over the vines curling up over the sides. One day he might come home, but that day is not anytime soon. His friends still need him.

He turns to join them, standing at the outskirts of the graveyard and peering into the Savalierwood, and says, “So, where to now?”

“No idea,” says Beau. “We’ve mostly just been walking wherever. Sometimes the landscape just breaks up from under us, like with Rexxentrum, other times we step through a door and _wham_.” She punches her hand into her open palm. “We’re in a completely different place.”

“Have we tried focusing on the person we want to find?” Caduceus asks. “This is a mindscape. It bends to our minds, and I’m sure if we really focused on someone we could find them easily.”

The slightly embarrassed silence that greets him says it all, really.

“I mean,” says Veth, after a moment, “the problem is: who do we want to find _first_? Because me, I want to find Caleb first, we could use a wizard on our side.”

Oh, that is true. Caduceus hadn’t liked being by himself up against Lucien and two of the Tomb Takers, and he imagines that if Caleb had been there he might’ve stood a slightly better chance. Slightly. Lucien had been more than adept at using and changing the mindscape around him, maybe because it had been _his_ memory, _his_ home advantage.

“I’d like to find Fjord first,” says Beau.

“Fjord can handle himself,” says Veth. “Have you seen how many of those Tomb Takers were? If they focus on one of _us_ while we’re vulnerable—”

“They could take him down,” Yasha says, rubbing a hand over her forearm.

“We could split up,” Molly suggests. “We have two clerics.”

“You want Jester on healing duty?” Veth asks.

“I am actually really good at healing,” huffs Jester.

“We’re not splitting up,” Beau says, flatly. “I’ve read enough novels to know that if you split up the group, people die horribly.”

“Caleb could be dying horribly right now!” Veth snaps.

Molly rocks back on his heels, and says, “If we’re really doing this—If we could really affect the landscape around us by thinking about it? What happens if we focus on them both?”

Another, more contemplative silence falls over the group. Beau shrugs, and says, “Well, it wouldn’t hurt. It might even work.”

“Everyone hold on to each other,” Caduceus says. They’re stronger, better together, he knows that much—going up against Lucien and his friends alone had been a challenge, to say the least.

Veth catches Caduceus’ hand. He feels Molly’s slip into his other hand, sees Yasha slide her arm around Molly’s elbow as Beau slips her hand into Yasha’s, as Jester catches Beau’s arm. Caduceus breathes in deep, then breathes out, and all six of them step out of the Blooming Grove’s sanctuary and into the Savalierwood.

No sooner have they left the Grove than the ground underneath them quakes, then cracks apart under their feet. Veth lets loose a panicked shriek as they drop into water, and for a moment Caduceus feels the water flood into his lungs and cannot breathe either, from the panic or from the water. No, no, _no—_

And then suddenly he _can_ breathe, as his feet hit the ocean floor.

“What the fuck?” Molly asks, so far out of his depth that Caduceus honestly feels sorry for him. It can’t be easy, realizing just how far out of step he’s gotten with his friends. “All right, how the fuck did we end up underwater?”

“This is the Diver’s Grave,” says Beau.

“This is Dashilla’s lair,” says Jester, her eyes wide as her hair fans out around her. “They must be around here somewhere!”

“Altar’s this way,” says Yasha. “But everyone _stay alert_. Molly, stay close to me— _do not touch that_ , that’s poisonous.”

No wonder Molly and Fjord were roommates. Caduceus leans against his staff, watching Molly step back from the seaweed trying to pull him into their grip. “Poisonous seaweed, pirates, dragons, halflings that used to be goblins,” Molly says. “I’ve seen it all now.”

“That’s adorable,” Veth comments.

“Yeah, maybe table that declaration for now,” says Beau, clapping him on the back. “For now, we got a wizard and a paladin to get back.”

“We should probably—” Caduceus starts.

Molly steps forward. A ghost rises from the ground, its eyes glowing as it reaches out for Veth. She swears as she brings her crossbow around to fire at it, but it’s too late, the ghost makes contact with her hand and seems to _melt_ into her. She freezes up in stunned shock, convulsing once, then falls to one knee.

“—watch out for ghosts,” Caduceus finishes, as ghosts begin to rise all around them. Veth gets back up on her feet, but when she turns to look at them, her eyes are glowing a sickly green. She smiles, showing all her teeth. “Ah. This is bad.”

“You think?” Molly says.

“Eh,” says Beau. Her fists crackle with lightning again, and she grabs the arm of a ghost trying to reach for Molly and bends it back. “Back the _fuck_ off,” she snarls, then punches the ghost out.

And then the lair explodes into chaos. Caduceus can’t keep too far back—Veth is possessed, and a ghost with Veth’s skill, good luck, and crossbow is a dangerous one. He barely manages to avert a lucky crossbow bolt that would’ve punched through one of Beau’s lungs, that’s how dangerous.

Then a ghost all but melts into Yasha. She freezes in place, then slowly turns toward Molly and Jester, her sword held aloft and her eyes glowing eerily. Veth scrambles to her side, the two of them surrounded by ghosts and sharing that same unnatural smile.

“Not _again_ ,” says Jester, irritably.

“No, no, _no_ ,” says Molly, more desperately.

“All right, this is just too much,” says Caduceus, with a huff. He raps the end of his staff against the ground, glaring down the ghosts possessing his friends, and says, “Go back to _sleep_.” With his words, he pushes out a burst of divine energy in a wave around him.

Most of the ghosts scream and turn away, a couple immediately fading out of view. The ghosts possessing Yasha and Veth seem to loosen their hold for a moment, the bodies shuddering, but then they straighten up and grin back.

“I fucking hate this,” says Molly.

“You think we’re fans?” Beau huffs.

Then the ghosts lurch forward, Yasha’s body swinging her sword towards Jester. Jester barely gets her shield up in time to block, stomps her foot and lets loose a primal scream. Icicles burst from the ground, shooting towards Yasha, and slam into her heavy bulk.

Veth’s body rolls out of the way of Beau’s charge. Pitch-black eyes fix on Molly, and she shoves a bolt into her crossbow, takes aim, and—

—her eyes bleed black.

“Get the _fuck_ out of them!” Molly snaps, his voice charged with power. Veth staggers back, her eyes briefly clearing.

Caduceus taps Molly on the shoulder, and says, “I saw him do a thing before we got here—can you pull the ghosts out?”

“I don’t,” Molly starts, then he pauses, brow furrowing as if he’s remembering something. “I—think I could?” he ventures. “I mean, we’ve got the same body, stands to reason we might have the same abilities. But it’ll be rough.”

Caduceus rests his hand on Molly’s shoulder, squeezes gently. He hasn’t known Molly very long, but in the short time they’ve known each other Molly has shown himself to be infinitely more charming and kind than his charismatically cruel predecessor. Also, more uncertain. Caduceus is familiar with uncertainty, he’s friends with Fjord, he can handle this. Their survival kind of depends on him handling this, so, no pressure. “We’ll be right here,” he says.

Molly sets his jaw, looks at Yasha and Veth, trying to slaughter Beau and Jester where they stand. “All right,” he mutters. He tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes, holding up a hand with the snake tattooed on it. The red eye glows brighter, soon joined by eight other eyes on his body.

Then he makes a yanking motion with a snarl, and two ghosts tumble out of Veth and Yasha, who crumple to the ground like puppets with cut strings. Molly sags immediately into Caduceus’ side, blood beginning to fall from the corners of his eyes, but pulls away fast to stagger towards the others, falling beside Yasha and pressing two fingers to her neck. Then he does the same to Veth.

“Come on, wake up,” he murmurs, as Jester drops to her knees and scoots forward, her hands sparkling with glowing light. “You’ve fought worse than this. You fought a _dragon_.”

Caduceus swims forward. “Mx. Mollymauk?” he asks. “You all right?”

“Yasha and Veth first,” says Molly, “I can handle a little pain.”

“Absolutely not,” says Beau, her tone brooking no argument. She didn’t really need to say it in such a commanding way, because Caduceus is already patting Molly’s back with a glowing hand, watching his wounds seal up quickly. “ _Please_ get healed up because you are literally _bleeding from the fucking eyes_.”

“Oh,” says Molly. He touches his cheeks gingerly, then looks down at his fingertips. “Shit. That didn’t happen to him when he pulled this shit, I know that.”

“But you’re not him,” Caduceus says. “You’re just—borrowing the magic he has. Maybe the magic knows that.” And if that’s true, then they’re in some deep trouble.

Molly closes his eyes, breathes out shakily. “Fuck,” he says.

“Or you’re just inexperienced,” Beau points out. “You didn’t really have those abilities when you were with us, maybe you’re not used to the strain.”

“I don’t want to get used to the strain,” says Molly, heavily.

Jester hauls Veth back up onto her feet, and says, “It was—It was fucked up.”

Molly looks down at his feet, and says, softly, “Jes, did he—”

“A little,” says Jester, but she flashes a reassuring smile. Behind her eyes, though, Caduceus sees something much sadder lurking in the shadows. “It was weird, but you’re here and you’re you, so it’s okay.”

“It isn’t _okay_ ,” Molly starts.

“I think we should table this discussion for later,” Caduceus says, and Molly subsides. He feels sort of bad for saying as much, because they _do_ need to talk about that at some point, but not—not right now. Fjord is in danger, and so is Caleb. They need to save them first, and then, if they’ve still got time and the Tomb Takers aren’t coming after them, maybe they can all talk about Molly, and Lucien, and what to do next.

But for now, they have to save their people.

Caduceus tries very hard not to wonder about how long it’s been, if Fjord and Caleb are still waiting for them, or if the Takers got to them first. He—He’ll deal with that, if it comes to that. But later. Later.

Beau pulls Yasha up, tucking under her arm to hold her up. “He did a lot of fucked-up things,” she says, “but you’re not the one at fault here, Molly.”

“I know _that_ ,” says Molly.

“Just wanted to drill it into your thick skull,” says Beau. “Let’s go find the captain. And _not_ piss off any more ghosts than we already have.” She shivers. “I don’t feel like dealing with Dashilla right now.”

“Someday you lot are going to have to tell me about every single near-mythical creature you’ve apparently pissed off,” says Molly. “Clearly, I’ve missed out on a lot.”

“Yeah, you have,” says Jester. “But I’ve been drawing everything so it’ll almost be like you were there after all!”

Caduceus doesn’t say anything about the shakiness of Molly’s smile, at that. He figures Molly knows well enough, already. It is, after all, his face. Hopefully it stays that way.


End file.
